


Ghost of You

by Honestmouse



Series: Danger Days One-Shots [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: I'm Sorry, This Is Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 06:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20335705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honestmouse/pseuds/Honestmouse
Summary: At the end of the world, or the last thing I see. You are never coming home. Never coming home.





	Ghost of You

Laser fire is erupting all around him, turning the air scorching hot and brimmed enough in smoke to be painful as it burns his lungs. Party Poison fights with everything he has, just like always, downing the endless stream of Dracs that charge at them through the door.   
Ironically enough, the warehouse they’re in had felt secure when they’d gotten here.  
It’s essentially a big, wide open room with two metal doors on the front side, the kind that lift upwards when you press a button on the wall beside them. The inside is a large, open air containment of supplies. They'd found dry food, medicine, even weapons, all stacked up in convenient crates and lined up in rows along the walls.  
There was far more than the four of them could carry but they quickly had decided on doing trips, not that it mattered now.   
He should have seen this coming, should have realized that this was way too fucking easy.  
The Dracs won’t stop, an endless wave of blank faces hidden by grotesque masks, all aiming at him and his crew. They're taking turns in the midst of this continuous laser fire, trying to find an end to the fucking parade of Dracs coming at them.  
Half of his crew is taking cover by some of the larger stacks of crates on the wall furthest from him, all that’s telling of their position is a brief flash of color before more lasers pass by his face. Ghoul is beside him, currently firing towards the doors while Poison takes a moment. He's been fighting forever and the adrenaline is wearing thin. He's shaky and it's getting harder to think clearly.  
This fight feels never ending, Poison completely unsure of how long it’s really lasted. Could be seconds, could be hours.  
Then, Ghoul twists back behind their cover, his eyes scrunched shut and head leaning back onto the crates he’s now resting against.   
They’re all exhausted.  
Poison pulls in a deep breath, fighting to not choke on the smoke that sets his nose and lungs aflame, and dashes out from behind his own cover. Maybe he can give Ghoul some more time to recover, to catch his breath before the next turn.  
So Poison fires rapidly, aiming towards the hangar doors, towards the Dracs threatening his crew.  
It’s as if the world around him falls still, everyone in the building and the entire desert holding their breath as he fires into the open. He hears nothing and yet everything all at once.   
But the Dracs don’t stop, not even phased by the corpses of their friends laying at their feet nor the blistering beams from Poison's gun, and soon the return fire begins. This forces Poison to duck back behind the too short stack of crates, shoulder to shoulder with Ghoul as they both breathe heavily.   
They’re probably destroying the supplies, ruining any chance they have of using them themselves or distributing them out later. He shakes his head, dispelling the worry.  
Priorities.   
Casting a glance around from his hiding spot, Poison gets a front row view of his brother, Kobra, as he takes his turn. The kid pokes his head out, crouched down beside another too-short crate pile and fires quickly towards the door. But the Dracs are gaining ground as his crew quickly begins to run out of charge.   
A feeling sinks deep in Poison’s gut.   
He watches Jet fire next, his face set in a hard scowl as he shoots the Dracs relentlessly. It's so painfully different than the gentle, almost parental, expression he’s so used to seeing on Jet’s face.   
Poison goes again now, noticing Ghoul is still trying to catch his breath, this time only stepping out of his meager protection as much as he has to. He makes it three shots before his blaster runs out, causing him to have to quickly duck back. Cursing loudly, Poison watches his crew take turns again, Ghoul joining now.   
He feels useless.  
On Kobra’s turn, his brother’s eyes find his. He looks truly scared, shaken, and Poison is all too reminded of how young he is.  
It can’t be more than a second but it feels like an eternity before Kobra begins mouthing something to him. His brain catches up too slowly, too late to realize that Kobra’s going to try and come to him.  
Shit.   
There’s a good twenty feet of open air between the two of them. It's a clear shot but there's no fucking cover at all. Only laser beams fill the air between him and his baby brother, bright and streaking and deadly as they hit all around them. Crossing now is impossible and yet it is something he can't seem to form into words to warn Kobra about.  
He doesn’t have time to do anything other than stare in a mixture of shock and horror as Kobra suddenly sprints out from behind his cover. Poison can see Jet try and grab his arm to stop him but his brother just pulls from the grasping hands, into the laser fire.   
His breaths stop, Poison unable to move an inch as he watches the scene in front of him.  
Somehow the laser beams don’t hit Kobra. They come close, burning fabric and exposed skin, but he doesn’t even flinch, his attention solely on Poison. The distance between them grows shorter and Poison thinks of the scolding he’s going to give him once this is over.   
The idiot.  
Ghoul’s giving cover fire, as is Jet, but it doesn’t matter. A well aimed blast is all it takes.  
It happens in slow motion, Poison unable to look away as the inevitable happens. The beam pierces Kobra’s chest right in front of him. There’s a pause, where the world instantly loses all sound, all color, and his ears ring violently. His heart stops, painful and aching in his chest as Kobra stops abruptly in his tracts.  
Poison screams as his brother falls, Kobra's face morphing from confused shock into something more twisted. Agony.   
Poison lunges forward, forgetting about the laser beams that fill the air, uncaring if they hit him and unable to look away. Kobra’s mouth is open as he gasps, uncoordinated hands reaching up blindly to try and grip his wound. Blood is already pouring, bright red even in the dim light. Blinding to Poison.  
Something holds Poison back. A pair of strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him back roughly against the crates. Screaming his brother’s name, Poison watches the blood begin to soak through Kobra’s shirt, the yellow steadily giving way to dark red.   
Jet’s running now, crossing the distance in seconds and crouching down beside Kobra, quickly pressing hard against the wound on his chest.   
All Poison can do is watch, all he can do is scream and fight against the hands holding him back. But Kobra’s not fighting as much now, his movements sluggish and slow as he twists his head enough to look in Poison’s direction.   
Blood trickles from his mouth as Poison screams louder. His voice is breaking, his lungs and throat burning as Kobra offers the faintest of smiles his way. The red stains his lips, stains his teeth as he shakes through a horrible, wet cough.  
The blood soaks into the jacket Jet’s got pressed into his chest. Runs down onto the cement floor.  
Poison fights with renewed strength against the arms keeping him from his brother. He doesn’t care about the lasers, about the Dracs, all that matters is that his fucking baby bother is bleeding out ten feet away. And he NEEDS to get to him. He need-  
Kobra grows all at once still, his eyes slipping shut and mouth parting in an inaudible sigh. His last breath a silent one.   
Poison watches the life drain from his brother’s body.  
He screams even louder, calling his brother’s name at the top of his lungs even as Ghoul forces him down onto the ground to keep him in place. He fights with every single ounce of his being but it’s not enough.  
Kobra’s dead.   
Mikey's dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... so this is the product of me not sleeping for two days and then listening to Ghost of You on repeat at 4am.   
It's probably shit honestly but this is what happens when I'm depressed and I want to write for some reason. I'm dealing with a nasty bit of writers block for my main fic and I just needed to vent a little. Or a lot.   
So yeah, have... whatever it is that this fic is.


End file.
